


the sin of swallowing you

by placentalmammal (biglizard)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Insults, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biglizard/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: Drawing back, Felix laughed, sharp and cruel. “You’re pathetic,” he growled. His amber eyes roved over Sylvain’s body, lingering on his groin. “You’d let anyone do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”Sylvain settled his hands on Felix’s hips; his waist was so narrow that his hands fit almost around it. “Not just anyone,” he said, risking honesty, “just you.”--Sylvain and Felix are too horny to talk about their feelings. It doesn't go great. Consensual but very angsty and under-negotiated, please mind the tags.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	the sin of swallowing you

Felix was merciless. One hand fisted in Sylvain’s shirt, he shoved the larger man back against the wall, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Sylvain let himself fall back, let Felix claim his mouth. He went limp against him, soft and yielding, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He gasped when Felix’s teeth caught his bottom lip, some self-destructive urge sparking in his gut.

Drawing back, Felix laughed, sharp and cruel. “You’re pathetic,” he growled. His amber eyes roved over Sylvain’s body, lingering on his groin. “You’d let anyone do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Sylvain settled his hands on Felix’s hips; his waist was so narrow that his hands fit almost around it. “Not just anyone,” he said, risking honesty, “just you.”

For a moment, he thought Felix would strike him. Something like fury burned in his eyes, but he only shook his head. “ _Pathetic_ ,” he repeated, and Sylvain didn’t disagree. To save himself from implicating himself any further, he tipped his head forward, bringing their mouths together again. Another kiss, not soft, but it was what passed for gentleness between them.

When he pulled back, Felix’s expression had changed. “Give me your hands.”

“Here?” Sylvain glanced over his shoulder, down the empty corridor. It was late and the training yard was deserted, but it might not remain so. Their rooms weren’t far.

“Give me your hands,” he said, as if Sylvain hadn’t spoken. His face had hardened again; he looked more like himself.

Unable, as always, to withstand his worst impulses, Sylvain did as he was told. Felix caught his wrists in both hands, pressing him back against the wall, using his weight to pin him in place. Sylvain let him, unresisting except for the cant of his hips, angled so that Felix could feel his cock through his trousers.

He scoffed, sliding one knee between Sylvain’s spread legs. “You’re shameless,” he said. “Slut.”

Sylvain didn’t disagree. Instead of answering, he tipped his head back to bare his throat in an unspoken invitation. Felix accepted, closing the distance between them to bite a bruising kiss into the meat of his throat.

Sylvain closed his eyes, trying to shut off his racing mind and lose himself in the moment. He did everything Felix expected of him: he moaned, he begged, he pushed back against him just to feel his grip tightening on his wrists. In that moment, he was a method actor, uncomfortably aware of how much of himself he'd lost in making himself small enough, stupid enough, loathsome enough to slip out from underneath his father's expectations.

Felix was the last scrap of honesty in his life. He moved through the world without artifice, and Sylvain envied his clarity. Looking into his eyes, Sylvain saw his boredom and hurt and fury reflected back, every poisonous impulse that he’d worked so hard to suppress.

This was the difference between them: Felix’s rage was a knife in the dark, blade pointed outward. Sylvain’s anger was arsenic, bitterness on his tongue, seeping into his bloodstream.

His eyes flew open as Felix worked his collar open. Shuddering at the scrape of Felix’s nails across his chest, Sylvain sank down into the sensation, forcing everything else from his mind. There was the wall at his back, the sky overhead, the gravel underfoot. Felix, flushed and intent and in his face, half-hooded eyes glimmering with malice. It was enough; it was all he needed.

“Slut,” said Felix. His hand rested on Sylvain’s breastbone, like he intended to take hold of Sylvain’s heart. “You like it when I insult you, it makes your cock hard.”

Sylvain could only nod.

Sneering, Felix fisted one hand in his hair and dragged him down so their faces were on a level. “Whore,” he said, reaching down with his other hand to grope Sylvain through his trousers. “How can I keep you in line when you enjoy being punished?”

With that, Felix let go of his cock and pushed Sylvain roughly to his knees. He kept one hand tight in Sylvain’s hair, holding him in place as he fumbled with Felix’s belt. His eagerness made him clumsy; he could see the outline of the other man’s erection through his trousers and he wanted badly to feel its weight on his tongue.

Despite his affected disdain, Felix was just as eager. As soon as his cock was free, he thrust into Sylvain’s mouth, one hand fisted tightly in his hair. Gagging, Sylvain struggled for a moment to adjust before his throat opened around Felix’s length. This wasn’t the first time he’d knelt for Felix, and it wouldn’t be the last. He was still learning how to please him, how to make his mouth soft and slack and take his cock into his throat. He knew that he was doing well, because Felix cursed and tightened his grip, pulling his hair hard enough to send sparks shooting across Sylvain’s vision.

Moaning, Sylvain let one hand slip down between his fumbling with his laces. His fingers were numb, clumsy, and he couldn’t manage to get his trousers open. He touched himself through his clothing instead, and he could feel himself flushed and ready and already leaking precome.

Above him, Felix laughed raggedly. “Slut,” he said again, thrusting deep into Sylvain’s mouth, “you get off on being used, don’t you? It’s all you’re good for.”

Sylvain thrust artlessly against the heel of his palm, moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes. He ached, every part of him. Torn somewhere between shame and exhilaration and desperate, blinding love, he jerked himself off as Felix fucked his throat, cock heavy on Sylvain’s tongue.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Felix that he was the only one he’d let use him like this. It wasn’t a line; he meant every word. Sylvain didn’t have much pride, but he had his limits. He’d sucked plenty of other cocks, but he didn’t let anyone else debase him, didn’t let them humiliate him and call him a whore. He didn’t share so much of himself with anyone else, didn’t lay his emotions or his ego on any other altar. Fucked up, but it was what he had. It was enough.

Sylvain liked Felix like this, liked him savage and intent and so _cruel_. It was easy to provoke him, his lust and his fury, easier to just take whatever he gave and keep it all for himself. And more than anything, Sylvain liked (maybe even loved) Felix because he was just as desperate as he was, just as confused and pent-up and so fucking _angry_ at the world and everyone it.

Felix finished with a grunt, spilling down Sylvain’s throat. He pulled back and Sylvain coughed and spluttered, Felix’s come dripping down his chin and spotting his shirt. He moved to wipe it away, but the other man caught his wrist, his grip bruisingly tight.

“Swallow,” Felix spat. “It’s what you deserve.”

Wrecked, really and truly wrecked, Sylvain obeyed. Swaying in Felix’s grip, he licked his lips and choked down the other man’s spend. It sparked something in him -- a primal need to be claimed, to be filled with Felix’s come and feel it dripping out of every hole. Vision blurring, he looked up at Felix and a desperate noise escaped his lips, a wordless plea for mercy.

Felix looked down his nose at him, tightening his hand in Sylvain’s hair. “What do you want?” He punctuated his words with a shake, jerking Sylvin’s head back.

“Let me come,” he said. “Felix, please.”

He considered for a moment. His expression was calculating, the same thoughtful intensity he wore in the training yard, on the battlefield. He shifted his stance, sliding one leg between Sylvain’s thighs. “Are you going to rut against my boot, dog?”

It was a clear invitation, and Sylvain accepted readily. He shifted his hips, pressing his cock against Felix’s booted calf. Felix pushed back against him and Sylvain exhaled shakily, bowing his head like a penitent and resting his forehead against the other man’s hip. In that moment, Felix took mercy, allowing him a little slack. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ease the pounding in his head as he moved his hips against him, seeking relief.

Somewhere above him, Felix made an approving sound. “Look at you,” he said, “you know your place, don’t you, dog? You do so well on your knees.”

“Felix--”

“Use your words, slut.”

“ _Stop._ ”

Felix’s grip faltered. If Sylvain had been looking at his face he would have seen his expression shift, eyes widening, mouth dropping open.

“Sylvain?”

“Stop talking,” said Sylvain, still not looking at him. “Just-- let me have this.”

Felix’s mouth tightened. “As you wish.”

Sylvain said nothing. He let out a shaky breath and steadied himself, taking a moment to find his pace. He ground against Felix’s boot, silent and frantic like a gravedigger, making no sound at all except for his ragged breathing. He kept his head bowed, kept his eyes to the ground. Every part of him ached.

He reached anti-climax, hips stuttering against Felix’s boot as he came. He lingered for a moment, braced against the other man, bracing himself. When he finally pulled back, he found Felix looking down at him, his expression stony.

“Are you finished?”

“Do you care?” said Sylvain, suddenly exhausted.

Felix stood back, his posture guarded, his brow furrowed. He had already tucked himself and done up as his trousers all neat and tidy, like he hadn’t just come down Sylvain’s throat. “Don’t be stupid.” He stared at Sylvain for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then abruptly stuck a hand out.

Sylvain ignored him, using the wall for support as he hauled himself to his feet. Felix’s expression flickered like candlelight. He stood at a remove, pointedly looking away. “You should go,” he said.

“Oh?”

“To bed, I mean.” Felix spoke as though he’d already thought better of it. “It’s late. You should rest try to rest before tomorrow’s march. You can’t assume I’ll be there to watch your back.”

Sylvain studied him, considering his response. He could take it as it was meant, and respond in kind: _you too, Fe, you won’t prove anything by dying stupidly_. He could be cruel: _oh Felix, don’t be ridiculous! It’s been_ years _since I’ve counted on you_. 

He settled for honesty.

“I’ll be there, watching yours,” he said. “Count on it.”

Felix had nothing to say in response. He stared at Sylvain for a moment, and then ducked his head to hide his face and slipped past him, disappearing around the corner. He made no sound as he moved, and once he was gone, it was like he’d never been there at all.

For his part, Sylvain stayed in place, staring blankly at the wall. He didn’t watch Felix leave; he’d had enough of that over the years.

**Author's Note:**

> [STAN LOONA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkY8HvgvBJ8)


End file.
